


go on, believe (if it turns you on)

by norudeghosts



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 'do you want to get hepatitis? this is how you get hepatitis.' the fic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minorly Intoxicated Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Stranger Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Unrealistic Sex, Unsafe Sex, chan is only there for like a second sorry folks, heavy implications minho is something inhuman but never explicitly addressed, not that jisung knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norudeghosts/pseuds/norudeghosts
Summary: This is clearly a mistake.Jisung catches the smile that crosses Minho’s face in another flash of color, red lights reflecting off his teeth and sending some primal fear sparking through his spine he can’t explain.Jisung doesn't really go to EDM shows. They're not his 'scene'. But they are Chan's, and a beautiful stranger makes the night a lot more interesting.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 30
Kudos: 203





	go on, believe (if it turns you on)

“Water.” Jisung yells over the music to the bartender, watching as the man nods and goes to fetch a bottle from the cooler full of ice behind him. He can feel the sweat dripping down his neck and back, the crush of bodies behind him pouring heat into the enclosed space. Sure, he loves Chan and Jeongin both, and there was no way he wasn’t coming to Jeongin’s first set, but holy _shit_ these underground EDM shows were a whole different beast to the rap ones he was used to.

He downs almost the entire bottle as soon as it’s handed to him, turning around to lean against the makeshift bar. Lights dance over the exposed rafters of the old warehouse-turned-club, and the sound echoes so loudly it almost makes his brain rattle in his skull. He’s more sober than he’d thought he’d be, even a few hours on, but there’s still a pleasant buzz in his veins from whatever it was that Chan had given him before everything started.

“Hi.”

The word is shouted almost directly in his ear, loudly enough he almost dumps the rest of his water down the front of his t-shirt. “Fucking shit-”

Glancing to the side, he finds himself staring at one of the prettiest men he’s ever seen. High cheekbones, almost doll-like lips, and dark eyes outlined with now-smeared eyeliner staring him down. “You’re cute,” He giggles at Jisung, leaning as far as he can into his personal space. The lights catch on his sweat, turning his skin into a kaleidoscope of colors and shadows. “What’s your name, cutie?”

“Jisung.” He answers automatically, eyes going wide as the stranger leans into his side, arms draping around his shoulders. Jisung catches himself throwing his arm around a slim waist, helping the man keep himself balanced. Even through the thin fabric of his shirt he can feel how hot the man's skin is, practically an inferno in his arms, and Jisung finds himself wondering exactly how it would feel without the barrier.

Which is fucking weird, really. Last time he takes anything from Chan without asking what it is.

The man giggles again, resting his chin on Jisung’s shoulder; their height is different enough he has to hunch a little to do so. Small, slender fingers start toying with the chain around Jisung’s neck. “I’m Minho.”

He really shouldn't be able to hear him this well. Not when the second set has already begun, bass pounding in his ribcage even this far back from the stage. But that's not even top ten on his list of questions, not when the stranger- when _Minho_ leans further in to press a surprisingly delicate kiss just below Jisung's ear. The motion drags a startled squeak out of him he'd be embarrassed about in any other situation; Minho just laughs. "You're cute." he repeats, fingers twisting Jisung's necklace tight enough it bites into his skin for a moment. "Want to dance with me?”

He knows, logically, at a show like this, most of the attendees are high out of their minds on something, and an invitation to dance with a stranger with no concept of personal space isn’t _that_ weird. It’s not normally his thing, but something about Minho’s smile and the vibrating bass makes him down the rest of his water and let himself be led back into the mass of bodies by his necklace.

The heat is overwhelming with so many people crowded this close together in a building with no air conditioning, enough that Jisung starts sweating again almost immediately, but Minho seems completely unaffected. The movement around them pushes Minho back into him, and he impulsively grabs at his waist again, trying to stabilize the man so he doesn’t hit the floor.

This is clearly a mistake.

Jisung catches the smile that crosses Minho’s face in another flash of color, red lights reflecting off his teeth and sending some primal fear sparking through his spine he can’t explain. But before he can even focus on that, Minho is intentionally grinding back against him, making him choke on his own spit. He really should have seen it coming, with how Minho was talking to him, but somehow he still didn’t make the connection. It’s another case of something that really isn’t too unusual for the situation, but Jisung is so far out of his element he’s not sure how to react.

Minho spins around in one smooth movement. Jisung’s hands catch the fabric of his t-shirt, hiking it up to show off a strip of golden skin and what Jisung tries to pretend is absolutely _not_ a navel piercing. Not that Minho seems to care about the state of his clothing, too focused on draping himself over Jisung, arms linking tight around his neck. He can feel Minho idly playing with his necklace again, but it’s hard to focus on that with how close their faces are. Minho’s breath ghosts over his skin, warm and sweet, and it is _so_ tempting.

He barely even notices the beat changing, or Minho guiding their movements to match; his entire world seems to be caught up in those intense eyes and the faintest brushes of Minho’s lips against his own as they dance. They aren’t kissing, not yet, but he can practically taste the other on his tongue. One of Minho’s hands leaves the chain, fingers running up through the hair on the nape of his neck. His nerve endings _sing_ at the contact.

Jisung doesn’t know which of them moves first.

While he’s aware of the music in the background, the beat dropping to something fast and nasty, he pays it no mind. Not when Minho is licking into his mouth, barely letting them part enough for Jisung to pull in a lungful of air before he’s back on top of him. It’s messy and sloppy, their teeth clinking together from the force of it, and Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his _life_.

So, of course, that’s the moment he snaps back to himself.

What the fuck is he _doing?_ Okay, sure, hottest person alive currently trying to take out his tonsils with his tongue. That’s great. But this is Jeongin’s first show, this guy is a complete stranger, and he for sure doesn’t have any sort of condom or anything on him, which is just asking for trouble. Especially when he can _feel_ Minho against his hip, hot and hard and nope, not thinking about that.

A string of saliva separates them when they part. Minho drags his tongue over his lower lip, breaking it.

“I should go.” He yells over the music, pulling away from Minho and stumbling through the crowd toward the stage before he can talk himself into doing something _really stupid_. The event staff barely glance at him, the neon green wristband making sure he’s let through unaccosted. The music is quieter back here, the speakers muffled through the walls, but he can still feel the bass under his feet. After pausing for a moment to press the heels of his palms into his eyes (and wish that he hadn’t taken whatever the hell Chan had given him earlier) it only takes him a minute to find the bathroom behind the stage.

It’s small and dingy, just a single stall and the overhead light flickering a little from the vibrations, but it works well enough. Jisung forces the handle on the sink, splashing some cold water over his face. He still feels too hot, but away from the crowd- away from _Minho_ \- it’s easier to think with the right head.

“You ran away so fast.”

“ _Fuck_ -” Jisung jumps, hitting his elbow against the porcelain sink hard enough the _crack_ echoes through the room. He grabs at it with his other hand, spinning around to see Minho leaning against the door. He mock-pouts at Jisung, but the expression is ruined by the smile peeking through, the man watching him through lowered eyelashes while Jisung stares back like a deer in headlights. “How did you even get _back_ here?”

Minho hums, pushing away from the door and completely ignoring the question. “Don’t you think I’m pretty, Jisungie?” He asks, crowding into Jisung’s space again and looping his arms around Jisung’s neck. Even away from the dancing lights, his eyes still seem to swim with unnatural colors.

Oh, fuck it. He’s made worse- and uglier- mistakes.

Minho’s mouth tastes like mint and surrender. Jisung isn’t even mad when he feels the other laughing softly, clearly delighted by this series of events. Slender fingers tangle in his hair again, tugging lightly as Minho catches his tongue between his teeth, just enough pressure to sting in the best way. The sink hits the small of his back hard enough there will probably be a bruise there come morning, but he can’t even begin to make himself care. Not when it’s so much easier to turn them around, Minho’s grip on his neck tightening as he heaves the other man up to sit on the edge of the porcelain, giving him room to press between his spread thighs.

He’s not entirely sure when he moved his hands down to grab at Minho’s hips, trying to help keep the other balanced, but he almost loses his grip in surprise when Minho snakes his hand between them to cup his dick. Minho giggles into his mouth at Jisung’s sharp inhale, pulling back to drag his tongue over Jisung’s lower lip. “Are you going to fuck me?” The _way_ he asks is almost innocent, his tone more curious than seductive, though his expression contradicts it entirely. Jisung’s a little bit concerned Minho might _actually_ eat him alive, and even more concerned that he really, really doesn’t care.

“I’m planning on it, yeah, if you’re down.”

Minho smiles, the corners of his lips curling up in a way that feels distinctly feline. “Absolutely.”

Then there’s pressure on his necklace again, pulling Jisung’s mouth back against Minho’s even as he starts to undo his pants. Jisung would be a little embarrassed by how hard he is just from some making out, but Minho seems anything but bothered, those delicate fingers wrapping around his cock through his boxers and _squeezing_ . He gasps into Minho’s mouth at the sensation, and Minho swallows the sound, dragging his tongue over Jisung’s teeth. Even when they break apart, it’s only long enough for a lungful of air, then Minho is right back on him. It’s messy and rough, wet enough he can feel saliva smearing at the corner of his lips. Somehow it just _fits_. He can feel Minho shifting under his hands, and it takes a second for his brain to figure out why.

It takes a second longer to register he should probably help versus hinder, and he slides his hands up over the edge of Minho’s pants as the other undoes them, wobbling precariously on the edge of the sink. Jisung tightens his grip instinctively to try and keep Minho from toppling over, but he definitely does _not_ miss the way Minho looks up at him through his lashes, tongue caught between his teeth as he smiles. For a second he wonders when Minho took his shoes off. Then he wonders if Minho was even _wearing_ shoes. He can’t remember.

Of course, then Minho actually manages to get his sinfully tight pants undone and wiggled off his hips, and Jisung’s train of thought crashes violently into a brick wall.

“You like them?” Minho’s voice is sultry, teasing, and Jisung might have actually had a comeback under different circumstances. Ones that didn’t involve black silk panties against golden skin, the pinkish head of Minho’s cock just barely peeking over the top. He’s staring. He _knows_ he’s staring. But it isn’t until Minho giggles- actually _giggles_ , in a weirdly charming way- that he snaps back to himself. It’s probably overcompensating for how thrown he was, but he lets his hands slide back down Minho’s hips, thumbs slipping under the warm fabric. Minho sighs softly, head tipping to the side to bare his neck, and Jisung takes the obvious invitation. There’s not any special flavor to Minho’s skin, just the tang of sweat from the oppressive heat and the crush of bodies. It suits him perfectly. Minho loops one arm around his neck and uses it to brace himself, forcing Jisung to tense up for a second while Minho slides the panties down his thighs; he doesn’t bother pulling them all the way off, just letting them dangle lazily from one ankle, and the sight when Jisung shifts back for another kiss is absolutely debauched.

Minho is completely unashamed, spreading his legs even wider to let Jisung see _all_ of him. He’s a little smaller than Jisung, but flushed the prettiest shade of pink, resting against his stomach just below the glinting barbell through his navel. And he either shaves or waxes because, aside from a small tuft of dark hair around the base of his cock, his skin looks as smooth as the silk that was just hiding it. But the thing that holds Jisung’s rapt attention is the hint of silver further down, and he’s sure Minho can _see_ the exact moment it clicks in his head.

A plug.

As if his dick wasn’t already harder than steel.

Like he’s reading Jisung’s mind, Minho reaches between them again, deftly working to free Jisung from his boxers. He kind of wants to look down, see how much bigger Minho’s tiny-seeming hand makes him seem, and he almost does- at least, until Minho slides his thumb over his slit, collecting the precum gathering there and dragging it down to help ease the motion of his fingers. His head tilts back involuntarily, Minho’s lips attaching to the skin over his pulse with a ferocity that’s certain to bruise later. Jisung will wear it with pride. Sure, a bathroom hookup at an EDM show may not be the most desirable thing to most people, but Minho’s hotter than the sun and he’s definitely not going to say no.

With one last nip to his throat, Minho's lips trail up the side of his face, pausing to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It's at odds with the steady pressure of his hand as he almost lazily jerks Jisung off, smearing his own fluids all over him- he's always leaked a lot, and now seems to be no exception.

He can see how dark Minho's eyes are in his peripheral vision, pupils blown from arousal as he watches Jisung from under his lashes, and it sends something electric down his spine. "Jisungie." Minho sing-songs the nickname when he speaks, sweet and melodic in a way that’s as relaxing as it is thrilling. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

It’s a rhetorical question, he’s pretty sure, but there’s _something_ in his tone that compels Jisung to answer this time. “ _Really_ pretty.”

The smile that blooms across Minho’s lips seems a little more genuine, even if Jisung still feels like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. That feeling only intensifies when Minho leans back, bracing himself on the sides of the sink as he spreads his legs wider. Jisung only has a split second to wonder when, exactly, Minho took the plug out (and where the hell it went) before that thought train is derailed too. “I bet I’ll look even prettier on your cock.”

A rapidly-growing part of Jisung’s brain is urging him to just go for it- Minho’s hole is shiny with what must be leftover lubricant from the plug and _inviting_ , and he’s so hard it’s starting to get genuinely uncomfortable. But fucking a total stranger in a dirty bathroom without a condom still sounds like a terrible idea. Sure, Jisung knows _he’s_ clean, but… “ _Shit._ Do you, uh, have anything, or-”

Minho giggles, blinking slowly at him, and Jisung loses the thought process. “Don’t worry, Jisungie. We don’t need one.”

It’s a terrible idea. Really stupid. One of his worst.

It’s still all too easy to let one hand drift to Minho’s hip, the other helping guide himself to sink inside Minho. Minho sighs contentedly as he settles, head tipping back to expose his throat, and Jisung busies himself with tracing the line of his pulse with kisses while he waits for Minho to adjust. A fairly pointless wait, it’s made clear a moment later, when Minho wraps those gorgeous thighs around his hips and forces him deeper inside. “Come on, baby boy, fuck me.”

“Fuck.” He curses thoughtlessly, settling both his hands on Minho’s upper thighs to help keep him stable as he gives a short, experimental thrust. Minho is _tight_ , wet, and burning hot around him, but the movement just draws out the loveliest gasp Jisung has ever heard. He keeps himself controlled at first, trying to find the best angle until Minho’s lashes flutter and he finally moans from pleasure. From there, Jisung’s entire focus narrows down to the man in front of him, doing everything he can to drag out more of those sweet sounds until he’s pretty sure a jet liner could land behind him and he wouldn’t even notice. Hell, he doesn’t even know if the door’s locked.

Minho was beautiful out under the colored lights, but somehow the stark fluorescent glow from the single bulb overhead manages to make him look like some sort of filthy angel, back arching and piercing flashing as his body rocks from the force of Jisung’s thrusts. Between them he’s staying surprisingly stable, even managing to rock his hips back to meet Jisung at a few points. “ _Ah-_ just like that, Jisungie.” The sound of Minho moaning his name, his own grunts, and the slap of skin on skin echoes in the small room, underlined with the faint rumble of the bass from whoever’s on stage now, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything more pornographic.

Jisung watches, transfixed, as Minho’s cock leaks onto his stomach, a mixture of precum and sweat glistening in the light. The room is even hotter now, and he can feel the perspiration dripping down his back, but caring is well beyond him. Not when Minho’s voice is pitching a little higher, body clenching a little tighter around Jisung every time he slams home, and if he can make this beautiful man come untouched he doubts he’ll ever need to use his imagination to jerk off again. Remembering this- the wet slide of Minho’s walls against his dick, his staccato gasps, the way he catches his kiss-swollen lower lip between his teeth when Jisung gets the angle _just_ right? That’s probably gonna do it for him from now on.

“You’re doing so well.” Minho praises breathlessly, and Jisung bites down on a whimper, hips pistoning faster in response to the praise. His cock _throbs_ inside Minho, and he thinks about asking if he should pull out when he cums. But only for a moment. Then Minho’s thighs tighten around him, making it harder to move but helping drive him deeper, grinding against the little swollen spot inside the other man that draws out the prettiest sounds. “That’s it, baby, make me cum.” It’s encouragement enough for Jisung to pick up the pace as best he can, trying his hardest to hold out and _not_ be the first one to orgasm.

Minho’s nails scratch over the edge of the sink just loud enough to make a sound, and it’s the only real warning he gets before the other goes vice-tight around him, body tensing as he spills onto his stomach. The pressure is _insane_ , like Minho’s hole is practically begging for him to fill it, and it takes everything in him to try and pull back before he accidentally nuts inside Minho without permission.

Before he can, Minho closes his thighs around his hips again, the man shifting his body down and pressing flush against Jisung. Every inch of his cock is buried in that fluttering heat, the last ebbs of Minho’s orgasm still sending tremors through him, and Jisung stares dumbly as Minho drags his tongue over his lower lip. His eyes almost seem to gleam in the light. “Go ahead. Inside me.”

The encouragement is all his body needs to give in, climax hitting him like a truck, and he curls over Minho with a moan so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the entire building can hear him over the music. His ears are actually _ringing_ as he comes back down, and he blearily wonders if that’s why so many people do random hook-ups. Because if it’s like _that_ all the time, he gets the appeal. But now that the arousal is fading, a sense of bone-deep exhaustion settles under his skin. Which is more than a little weird, given that he can normally go two or three rounds.

Minho, on the other hand, looks brighter than ever, cheeks flushed and eyes _strikingly_ intense as they watch him. The expression is borderline fond, even as he gently guides Jisung’s hands off his hips and shifts himself up to allow Jisung’s cock to slip out of him. Normally he would be more active, do what he could to help clean his partner up, but it takes everything in him just to not doze off standing there. Minho seems completely unbothered, both by the cum dripping out of him and Jisung’s uselessness, gently cleaning off his still-sensitive dick before tucking him back in his pants and redoing them. “You did so well, Jisungie.” He praises, slipping off the sink and pressing gentle kisses across his cheekbones. Jisung only half registers them, eyes drooping shut of their own accord, and he barely even notices Minho guiding him to sit back against the wall.

“ _Minho!_ ”

Door definitely not locked, then. He’d recognize Chan’s voice anywhere, especially that ‘what-do-you-think-you’re-doing’ tone, but the sleepiness coating him like a blanket is too much for him to focus on the conversation deeply enough to make sense of it.

“You _know_ my friends are off limits, what if you hurt him?” Minho knew Chan? Chan knew Minho, and never introduced them?

Minho’s scoff sounds almost like it’s underwater, his body rapidly losing the fight to the sudden onslaught of exhaustion. “Don’t be silly, Channie, I only took a little bit of his energy. A nap and a good meal and he’ll be just fine.”

Nothing about the conversation makes any kind of sense. He can hear Chan respond, but not clearly enough to make out the words. The last thing that his bleary mind can focus on is the sensation of delicate fingers brushing through his hair, before everything fades and sleep claims him right then and there on the dingy bathroom floor.

**Author's Note:**

> i have absolutely no fucking idea folks the idea came to me and i wrote it over the course of like. 2 hours.
> 
> find me on twitter @norudeghosts


End file.
